vi: Now let me at the truth, which will refresh my broken mind.

It only takes Draco a moment to make up his mind, if even. Hastily, he makes sure he has his wand – which he does, as always – grabs his jacket, and follows Belle stealthily out the double doors. He spots her quickly, darting out of the office with a determination in her step. He wonders if she's bipolar or crazy, or something.

Following her isn't a problem for him, as Draco grew up around Death Eaters. Stealth was necessary in those times, and he more than once had to creep around his house, struggling to remain unnoticed by the older, crueller men. Being Lucius Malfoy's son didn't make you immune to the others threats, jibes, and occasionally, violence as a child. Draco can still remember his mother's tears at night as she tended to the yellow, curious colour of his latest marks. The elf did most of the work, but his mother stood by nonetheless. Taking all of this into account, it's needless to say that he quickly developed a stealthy step.

This Belle character doesn't seem the most astute or shrewd of people in any case, which also causes him to feel perfectly fine with following her. She'll never notice.

Draco dodges through the crowds of people as they weave through Diagon Alley, wondering where on earth she's heading towards. It doesn't take long for him to recognise the next area though; it's where he spent many days as a child. The chill in the air, the bite in the atmosphere and the hostile environment is all still the same. Knockturn Alley is no normal man or woman's favourite place.

He knows immediately what she's here for then, as if it should have been clear all along. Draco watches with mild abhorrence as she turns into an alleyway. Feeling his curiosity still piquing, he allows himself to cast a disillusionment charm – yes, he could have done that earlier, but where is the fun in that? - and follows her into the dark sideway. There's a little light peaking in from behind the nearest building, but it doesn't shed much.

Her steps are distinctly cautious as she approaches a man there. She shirks back when he takes a step forward, shaking in the shadow of his large and burly frame. Draco frowns; he recognises the man. Their voices are mumbled, but when the unknown man draws himself to his full height and inadvertently into the trickle of sun, Draco knows who he is – kind of. It's the attacker from the bar.

Rage bubbles within him. Draco clenches his fists tightly, trying to contain the anger running around his body and lighting up all his nerves. He wants to knock the man out – either with a fist or a spell – and shout mercilessly at the stupid woman in front of him. A rather unwelcome gust of wind causes Draco to stumble a little, and this reminds him where he is. As foolishness replaces the fury from moments ago, Draco wonders what on earth he's doing here. His life has been reduced to such meaningless routine, to such menial tasks, to such lack of direction that he's following some stranger as she buys drugs.

He tries not to feel angry with himself, but it's in vain. Draco wants to kick the nearest rubbish cans over, he wants to hex everyone in sight and most of all, he wants to drown himself in a glass of whiskey.

With all of this in mind, he counts to ten and relaxes himself. He long ago learned how to control his anger. Draco takes several steps back then, resolving to let go of this issue. He's letting go of Belle 'The Mystery', he's letting go of the curiosity and he's letting go of that fleeting nobility.

It doesn't matter that he's undeniably drawn to this woman, or that he finds her contradictions mesmerising and her vulnerability somewhat attractive; he's done.

On that thought, Draco turns on his heel, and leaves.

Weeks pass – precisely sixteen days – without a glitch since Draco left that laneway. He goes to work every day, eats in some upscale restaurant, and then swallows all of his thoughts up in alcohol at night. Occasionally, Draco will visit his mother, or send a letter to his son that won't receive a reply. He once knocked over to Astoria, a little tipsy, to ask her about the bag. It's not like he thinks about that often.

Except he does. Belle crosses his mind multiple times a day; did he do the right thing? What if she died? Why does he feel so responsible for her? Why she lied to him about his father plays over in his head, as well as every conversation and interaction they've ever had. He saw her briefly last week, stumbling out of the bar he met her in, but Draco paid no heed. He couldn't. Right? These kind of issues plague his thoughts, his dreams and every facet of his life. It's ruining him; he's beginning to think that he needs help, and that's not something Draco often concedes to.

Draco's musings are cut short as someone throws a paper down on his desk. "Fancy that!" He'd recognise that voice anywhere, but glances up to see the man. He hasn't seen Blaise in a few weeks because he was away on business, but still isn't pleased to see him. Blaise is too happy all of the time, to full of the joys of the world for Draco to tolerate him at the moment. He was better able to tolerate him after the divorce than he is now, for some reason.

Blaise wiggles his eyebrows, "You gotta' look at it. I want to see your face." Without prompt, he takes the seat in front of Draco's desk and props his feet up on the chair across from it. Draco sends him a scathing look that does little to dissuade the man.

Knowing that Blaise won't leave till he reads the newspaper, Draco sighs mournfully and picks it up. He blinks once. Twice. Three times, and even rubs his eyes. It says the same thing though.

Romance and Weasleys and Malfoys, oh my!

At first, he thinks that Blaise has played some sort of joke on him – he tells Blaise as much. As he swears on his wife's life that he didn't do this, Draco comes to realise that this is no mockery. He gives a startled look of pure disbelief to Blaise, who nods in understanding, "I know, right? You'd want to read the article." Words flood Draco's vision and mind, telling a tale of a long-standing romance, weekends spent in Hogsmeade and a revolutionary love. His immediate thoughts aren't ones of outrage or any emotion akin to it, but of unadulterated shock. He doesn't understand how this could have been going on for so long, under his nose, without his knowledge. Had he really grown so out of touch with his son?

His problem is nothing to do with the Weasley name in it, but the fact that he went unaware for so long. He wonders briefly if Astoria knows, but dismisses this thought as he doesn't truly care. He cares that he didn't know, and that's the heart of it. Many will claim that he hates the Weasleys, which isn't far from the truth, but Draco can't find it in him to be bothered by it. Out of all the Weasley's, he at least picked the best of the bunch. Granger's daughter is bound to be intelligent, however grudgingly he wants to admit that, while perhaps possessing the blessing of being less bossy given her ridiculous father.

Again, it's not the Weasley part that troubles him. Blaise's voice reminds him of his presence then, "Did you know about this? I'm appalled and offended you didn't tell me! As your best mate, I thought these kind of things – perfectly good gossip – was always spread between us. I mean, why not tell me? I think it's hilarious!"

Draco rolls his eyes, "Maybe that's why I wouldn't have told you. It doesn't matter anyway, because I didn't know." He avoids Blaise's gaze here, staring down at the newspaper intently. He almost thinks the words are going to arrange themselves at any minute, but they don't.

"You didn't know?" He sounds as surprised as Draco feels.

Even with that, he's still annoyed at the response. Through gritted teeth, Draco replies, "I didn't know."

Blaise winces, "Ouch. That's got to hurt."

"Thank you for your wonderful insight as always, Blaise. You know where the door is."

"Don't be such a Pansy," He laughs then, "Get it? Pansy." Blaise makes a show of shivering then, saying the words he always does after that old joke, "She was a horror."

Draco isn't paying attention to his friend though, for he's still processing this news. How is he supposed to react? Obviously, he has to acknowledge it at some point. Draco is surprised none of the vultures down at the Daily Prophet have attempted to contact him yet, and absently makes a note to tell his secretary to bin all requests. He doesn't have time to entertain their ludicrous assumptions and prejudices. In somewhat of a daze, he voices his thoughts out loud, "What am I supposed to do with this?"

Blaise stands, sighing as he does it. "Contact your son, obviously. I'm planning on sending him a ridiculously funny howler. Some mocking, jesting, maybe some singing; general fun and banter." He pauses and adds thoughtfully, "However, I suggest you take a different approach. On a different note, my meeting in Ireland went fantastically well. I really think this international approach is what we need."

He replies wearily, "We're not ready to go global, Blaise. We have to sort out our kinks first."

"We need to before someone else does. Look, I'm not doing this now – you contact your son, I'll –" The phone rings, and Draco sends it a suspicious glance. Blaise simply salutes him at this point before walking out the door, knowing that the blond had plenty to attend to.

Hestitating several times, Draco finally pushes the intercom button, "Who is it?"

His secretary, without a beat, tells him that it's his mother and pushes the call through. Draco resigns himself to listening to his mother's harping for the next half hour, all the while battling this and trying to think of an excuse for the fifteen minute mark. "Mother."

He can hear her bristle, "Well thank you for such a darling greeting, Draco. You know how to make a mother feel appreciated."

"I apologise for not feeling particularly up for jovial greetings this morning," He tells her dryly, wishing the conversation would move a bit faster. The sooner he contacts his son, the better in his eyes. Then again, maybe some reflection on the situation would do the whole scenario good.

"I assume you saw the paper then. Isn't it dreadful? Our own flesh and blood, with a Weasley!"

"Now Mother, calm down. Scorpius is entitled to be with whoever he wants, and he did pick the best from a bad lot. Besides, this is what the Malfoy name needs, you know," He says this gently, waiting as the words settle around them. She doesn't reply, evidently thinking his words over. Although these points are not the most important for Draco, he knows well enough that they are for his parents. God knows what Astoria will tell hers, but Draco plans on convincing them that this is a good move politically for the Malfoy name. Their reputation is building itself slowly with his business, and now, Scorpius is ensuring that they're not branded strictly prejudiced. He allows another beat to pass, and then, "He shouldn't be restricted by our pasts. I want to give him what you couldn't give me; freedom."

He knows that was somewhat below the belt, but he can't help it because it's exactly how it feels. Part of him is proud of Scorpius for overcoming all the bias and hatred towards their family to fall in love with someone traditionally on 'the other side'. He's bridging the gap, he's one of the good ones in society working to bring the two sides together. He shouldn't be branded with Draco's past, or the pasts of his grandparents and further back; Scorpius Malfoy should have a clean slate, to do with as he wishes.

Narcissa Malfoy breaks the silence eventually. "You know I wanted better for you." The say over the phone what they can't say face-to-face, he recognises. Neither of them are capable of this conversation – calmly – while in the presence of one another. Of course, Draco has voiced his vehemence and resentment towards his parents in anger in his younger days, particularly in his twenties right after the war, but it had all become water under the bridge. She gives him a lengthy exhale, "You're right though. As much as I am loathe to admit, Scorpius should be free to date as he wishes. I would just like someone from a less common family, but no matter. If I recall, Potters friends were the best out of that bunch, as you said. She must be intelligent." She adds.

Draco nods, even if she can't see him, as he had the same thinking. "Exactly. So if you have no more to say on the matter, Mother, I'm afraid I have to g—"

"No." Her tone is firm and clear, which makes him pause. She doesn't often use this tone with him, although he's heard it a few times with his father. "I have to talk to you about your father, he's—"

"I don't want to hear it." His voice leaves no room for argument; he's done. The lack of response on the other end leaves him feeling slightly guilty, so Draco relents , "I'll visit tomorrow. I'll listen to whatever you have to say, but I can't promise I'll help. Goodbye, Mother. Take care."

"You too, darling. See you tomorrow." Her goodbye is gentle, but he can tell she's hurt. There's no masking the dejected tone in her voice, nor the heaviness in her words. Draco needs to banish these bearings though; he has to stop worrying about his parents, because it doesn't serve him well at all.

Trying to expel all the irritating thoughts that have been plaguing him lately, Draco sets aside time to write to his son. He's going to make this one count, because he wants a reply this time.

My son,

I wanted to start this letter off with a cordial greeting. I wanted to inquire as to your health, your classes and your general daily happenings. However, this seems to fall short of your expectations in all of my other letters as I receive no reply.

Far from it, I do not want this letter to be one of chastising or disapproval. I cannot say that your anger or indifference to me has not affected me, as it has more bearings on me than you realise. I don't understand why you feel so strongly against me, as I've tried to do all I could to make your life as easy and seamless for you as possible. Forgive me if I have failed you Scorpius, but you gave me no indication that I was doing anything wrong.

More than anything else, I am disappointed. Not only in you, but myself. I have obviously not instilled the values in you that I thought I had, nor have I given you the trust in me I thought I did. I am disappointed because you do not acknowledge anything I say to you, regardless of the topic. Furthermore, I'm disappointed that you neglected to tell me about your recent romance. Did you think me to be that bigoted still?

I have no qualms with Rose Weasley, nor do I take issue against the Weasley family. If I have given you that impression as I raised you, then it has been interpreted wrongly. I wish you could see more than what you do.

I'm afraid that I can't reach any further, Scorpius. I need you to meet me halfway. I need to know what I did wrong to even attempt to reconcile it. Neither of us are perfect, and despite how hard it may be for you to acknowledge it, we are more alike than you realise yet.

I wait for your reply, Scorpius, and I do expect one. I demand a reply as your father; if anything, I have definitely taught you to have respect for your parents.

I hope you are doing well.

Your father,

Draco Malfoy.

A/N: Hey all! Thanks for your reviews so far. The genre of this story makes it quite unpopular, so I really appreciate those following it! Not that I wouldn't if I had a bigger following, but you get me, right? haha... Anyways, sorry for the long wait. Exams blah blah blah. I have now planned out the story - now that I know what direction I want it going in - so hopefully I'll finish it quickly. I'm eager to move onto something else now. Anyway, tell me what you think of this! Disclaimer: Don't own HP or "The Cave" by Mumford & Sons.

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it. Please review!
CN.